Chapter 464: Big Scoop

"Not a bad speech."

In the noble section, the King led the nobles in rising to their feet and applauding.

But it felt more like they were evaluating a circus performance they had just watched. Novel, amusing, worthy of a round of applause, but nothing more than that.

Orion stood on the stage, his gaze sweeping across those faces one by one.

He saw satisfaction and ease on the nobles' faces, and he saw the indifference that remained in the commoners' eyes after their curiosity had faded.

For the vast majority of people, the plight of half-elves had nothing to do with them, so they couldn't empathize.

Orion also knew that to truly escape their predicament, they could only rely on the half-elves themselves.

And when his gaze fell upon the half-elves in the crowd, what he saw was mostly avoidance.

They didn't dare meet his eyes.

Some lowered their heads or turned their faces away. Others pretended to be distracted by their companions beside them.

It was as if his gaze carried searing heat, and anyone who locked eyes with him would be dragged into some whirlpool they had no business being part of.

Only a handful of half-elves met his gaze openly and raised their hands.

Those few hands in the crowd were like the last remaining green leaves on a withered tree. Sparse, yet exceptionally conspicuous.

Orion looked at those raised hands, and a complex surge of emotion welled up in his chest.

Disappointment? Yes, there was some.

He naturally yearned to see more half-elves step forward, yearned to see the same flame burning in their faces that burned in his own.

But he didn't blame them.

Because the matter of challenging bloodline rank could be said to be related to them, or it could be said to have nothing to do with them at all.

Most half-elves, from the moment they were born, had grown accustomed to a life of drifting and displacement.

They were born on roadsides, in cowsheds, and then followed their parents from one town to another, dwelling under gazes of kindness or indifference.

Their lives were like a migration with no destination, and the notion of "resistance" was almost nonexistent in their world.

Those who dared to resist were always a tiny minority of the minority. Courage belonged to the warriors who swam against the current, not to the majority of travelers content to wade along the shore.

As for defying the Ancient Tree Council?

That was nearly unthinkable.

That colossal entity far to the west, with its heritage and power spanning thousands of years, for a race that couldn't even be certain where they'd rest their heads tomorrow, merely uttering its name was like telling a joke.

Rather than resist a mountain that could never be toppled, it was better to cherish the remaining years they had and live out their brief lives as best they could.

He could understand.

He truly could understand.

Moreover, the purpose of his speech had already been achieved, at least a passing grade.

Even if the Brave Ones were few, even if the raised hands could be counted on less than ten fingers, as long as his voice could spread across the South, as long as these words could travel farther through the mouths and pens of the people of Lothlorien.

Then the Brave Ones who gathered would form a formidable force, enough to change something.

Orion said nothing more. He withdrew his gaze, bowed slightly to the audience in gratitude, and prepared to leave the stage.

Just then, he heard a frantic shout from behind him.

"Watch out!"

That was Salemir's voice.

Orion's body instinctively tensed. Before he could even turn around, he felt a chill creeping toward the back of his neck.

The moment the blade sliced through the air, his heartbeat seemed to stop.

Only one thought remained in his mind: It's over.

"I'm here!"

Natalis's figure appeared beside him out of nowhere. She kicked out, striking the shadow closing in on the back of his neck.

The assassin, along with the dagger, was sent flying, tumbling into the crowd and knocking over two guards who were too slow to dodge.

Meanwhile, the crowd had already erupted into chaos.

"An assassin!"

"Protect the King!"

The royal guards reacted swiftly.

Dozens of guards in silver-white armor surged from both sides of the palace, charging toward the viewing gallery. They surrounded the King of Lothlorien and the assembled nobles, raising their shields to form an impenetrable wall.

The civilians in the square fled in panic, surging like a startled flock of sheep.

Meanwhile, behind the square, Salemir quickly retreated into the shadows of a nearby building and moved along the wall toward the direction with more guards.

He didn't recklessly rush in to help, because he knew very well that with his level of skill, he'd be useless in this situation and would only drag Natalis down.

If he charged in, he'd just become a hostage needing protection.

In fact, several minutes earlier, he had already noticed that some elves in the crowd had unsettling looks in their eyes.

Their gazes kept scanning the surrounding passages and vantage points, paying no attention whatsoever to the speech.

Damn it. He just hadn't expected they'd actually dare to make a move in the capital of Lothlorien.

Were these elves insane?

This was the Royal Capital, and the King was seated right on the stage.

This act was tantamount to slapping the royal family of Lothlorien across the face in front of the entire nobility of the city.

No matter how far the Ancient Tree Council's reach extended, they couldn't possibly turn a blind eye to this.

But this assassination was far from over.

Two stealthy figures suddenly sprang up from the crowd. Twin daggers flashed with cold light under the sunlight, stabbing toward Orion from left and right.

"Watch out, more assassins!" Salemir warned.

Natalis reacted instantly. She shoved Orion aside and rolled out of the way of the blade herself.

But the assassin from the other side had already struck. With a "shk," a gash was carved across Orion's forehead, and blood streamed down along his brow.

Orion stumbled back a step, raising his hand to cover his forehead. Blood seeped through his fingers, blurring his right eye.

The dagger had grazed past his temple. If Natalis hadn't pushed him, he would already be lying on the stage right now.

He looked at the blood in his hand, his body trembling violently, but not from fear.

His fear had long been drained by the string of unexpected events. What remained was replaced by pure fury.

Rage burned in his chest like a fire threatening to consume him.

Why.

He just wanted half-elves to be able to live freely under the sun.

Why were there so many people opposing him, so many people wanting him dead?

Why did they have to suffer so much?

Why?

He didn't know.

He only knew one thing. Since fate was unjust and wanted him to yield, then he would resist all the more.

He faced that assassin with eyes blurred by blood.

"Come on! Aren't you all after my life!"

He raised his blood-stained hand and roared, "Come on! Drive your blades into me! You cannot extinguish my fighting spirit unless you kill me!"

The assassin's gaze flickered. His figure paused mid-air, as if shaken by the look in this blood-soaked young man's eyes.

But after a moment, he raised his dagger again.

"Fwoosh!"

An arrow tore through the air, striking the ground right in front of the assassin. The tail of the arrow still trembled with a humming ring.

Then came the second arrow, the third. The assassin was forced to constantly dodge and retreat.

Once he had retreated to a safe distance and looked up, he saw a Fissure had opened behind Orion.

Elven archers stepped out of the Fissure with light footsteps, longbows already drawn with arrows nocked.

Several mages in green robes followed closely behind, magical light gathering and crackling at the tips of their staves.

Reinforcements from the Dryad domain and the Forest Sage Council had arrived.

The assassins' faces finally changed. They all retreated in unison, trying to blend into the panicked crowd and escape.

However, the old Sage walking at the very back, who didn't even carry a staff, merely twitched his fingers.

A small sword flew out from his sleeve, silently passing over the heads of the crowd, weaving through the air like a nimble silver fish.

It moved so fast its trajectory was nearly invisible. With a soft "whisk," it swept across the ankles of those assassins in succession.

Before the assassins could even flee, their legs gave way and they all collapsed to the ground.

Their tendons had been severed, blood pouring out. Just as they tried to scramble up and run, they were forced to raise their hands in surrender by the elven archers' arrows.

Only then did the old mage retrieve his silver small sword.

Alders.

The elder Sage of the Forest Sage Council who had first made contact with the Empire. Now he was already one of the Empire's Legendary seeds, with a Fake Core bestowed by the Empire circulating within his body.

The Empire sending him personally to protect Orion showed just how highly they valued Leaf of No Distinction.

He didn't kill those assassins. He only gestured for the archers behind him to step forward, subdue the fallen assassins, flip back their hoods, and tear off the black cloths covering their faces.

When the faces hidden beneath those hoods were exposed to the sunlight, all the elves still present in the square froze.

Because these assassins were none other than elves themselves.

Two of them were Drow elves, what humans called dark elves, with dark purple skin.

And the other two were half-elves, of the same race as Orion.

"Half-elves... assassinating a half-elf?"

"Are they insane?"

It was only then that Salemir walked over. He quickly came to Orion's side and looked him up and down. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Orion shook his head, lowering the hand covering his forehead.

He looked down at the bloodstains on his palm, his expression complicated.

He had prepared a polished ending for this speech, one that would leave the audience with a favorable impression of Leaf of No Distinction.

Now this assassination had thrown all his carefully planned conclusions into chaos, leaving his heart in turmoil.

"Damn you! Why did you do this?!"

Natalis, who had chased after the fleeing assassin, came running back. She grabbed one of the half-elf assassins by the collar, grinding her teeth in fury.

"What the hell is going on inside your heads?! Do you have any idea who we're fighting for a future for?!"

The half-elf assassin curled up and stammered, "For... for the bounty."

"Bounty?!" Natalis's face flushed red with rage as she kicked him. "Just for a bag of coins?! Do you realize you almost killed..."

"Natalis!" Salemir grabbed her arm to stop her. "That's enough."

"But this guy..." Her face was still bright red with anger.

Salemir restrained her, then swept his gaze around. The nobles had already retreated into the palace under guard protection, and the civilians were watching from afar on the streets.

His gaze shifted to the street in the distance. There was a figure hurriedly ducking into the corner of a building, peeking out for a look in this direction before quickly pulling back.

He withdrew his gaze and patted Natalis on the shoulder. "Alright. This might not be a bad thing."

"Not a bad thing?" Natalis indeed stopped her movements.

Salemir shook his head. "Think about it. If what happened today spreads, spreads across the entire South, what do you think people will say?"

"The Ancient Tree Council's assassins, publicly attacking a half-elf speaker in the Royal Capital of Lothlorien."

"Whether or not those assassins were actually directed by the Ancient Tree Council, the label is already stuck. And people's impressions of a label often matter more than the truth."

"This might actually work in our favor."

After saying this, he looked toward the street corner again, his gaze carrying a hint of something intriguing.

...

At the street corner, Martin pulled his head back, pressing his back against the cold wall, his heart pounding uncontrollably.

Did that half-elf just look this way?

He held his breath and waited for a long while before daring to peek out half his head, looking toward the square.

The crowd had already dispersed. The half-elf named Salemir was chatting with his other companions and hadn't looked this way again.

Martin breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

Probably just a misunderstanding. He didn't notice me.

With that thought, his attention was quickly drawn to the projection ring in his hand.

For a newspaper reporter, this ring, capable of recording images and projecting them, was his bread and butter.

He held the ring up to his eyes, his thumb gently rubbing the ring's surface. Mana light spilled out from it, projecting a faint image in the air.

In the image, the half-elf named Orion stood on the stage. Blood was seeping from his forehead, his right eye blurred by the blood, yet he still raised his blood-stained hand high. His gaze burned like flames as he roared at the crowd below.

Around him, panicked crowds scattered in all directions. Some fell, some screamed, forming a stark contrast to him.

This image seemed to carry a scorching power. Even as just a mana-projected image, it made the hairs on Martin's palms stand on end.

This was undoubtedly a true leader.

With barely concealed excitement, Martin carefully tucked the ring into his inner pocket.

Now this was what you call a big scoop.

A leader who dared to lead his people in resisting injustice, attacked in the square of Lothlorien.

As a veteran newspaper reporter and editor, he could almost already envision tomorrow's headline.

Something like: Half-Elf Leader Assassinated, Ancient Tree Council Behind It All.

He'd bet his bottom dollar this issue would sell out completely.

He never expected a trip to Lothlorien to yield such a prize. He wished he could sprout wings right now and fly back to the newspaper headquarters in Dawn City.

He warily scanned the crowd around him, then cautiously headed toward the city gate.

Right now, everyone looked like they wanted to steal his ring. He hugged it tightly to his chest, quickened his pace, and jogged out of the street.